


Stay With Me

by Santillatron



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angsty McAngstface, God has other ideas it seems, Heavy Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Who dropped all this Angst?, painkiller abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron
Summary: Post-Ritz and Aziraphale and Crowley get closer than ever, but it only seems to drive them apart. As they set new heights for complicated relationships and heart break, can they actually talk to each other before it's too late?ORAn abject lesson in the importance of effective communication.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88





	1. Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Well the idea occurred to me one day and when I started exploring it, it just went into a whole world of misery, so be warned. This is going to hurt.

The first time it happened was after that dinner at The Ritz. They were both drunk, exhausted, and strung out on the enormity of it all, so when they got back to the bookshop they succumbed to a moment of weakness and somehow just fell into each other. Neither dared speak a word in case the spell broke and they had to focus on what was happening, but they clung to each other, gave everything they had, took everything they could, and when they finished and reality returned, they wordlessly pulled apart. They turned away from each other, got dressed, and Crowley left in silence without looking back. 

Neither could risk the other seeing what that had meant to them. 

Neither brave enough to risk seeing how little it meant to the other. 

Both hearts silently breaking. 

Crowley drowned his sorrows in whiskey and shouting at his plants. Aziraphale threw himself into a particularly heart-wrenching series of novels, hoping to lose his sorrow in another’s. It was a month before they would brave seeing each other again. 30 days of anguish that they’d frightened the other away, broken this before it even had a chance. But while neither could reach across the chasm that now lay between them to try and put words to what they had done that night, they couldn’t stand to be away from each other. 

The next time had been after Aziraphale discovered Crowley had been at his bookshop while it burned, seen it fall, thought him destroyed. Crowley was aching with the memory of the loss, Aziraphale aching at the thought of his Demon in such distress. Memories of 'I lost my best friend...' plagued both. Once again they silently, desperately, fell into each other and once again they silently pulled apart with the words unspoken hanging in the air, just out of reach. Once again Crowley left as they both crumbled. 

_I can’t let him see how much this means to me,_ thought Crowley_. I can’t bear to see how little it means to him. He wouldn’t love a Demon, but if he finds solace, finds peace in me then I can give that to him. I will let him use me. I can’t lose him. He’s all I’ve got left._

_I wish I could show him how much this means to me, _thought Aziraphale._ I know I’m not brave enough to face him and see how little it means to him. He must know how I feel, but he’s a Demon, he can’t love, but he must find comfort in me and I’m too weak to resist, even though it’s agonising. I will allow him to use me. I can’t lose him now. He’s all I’ve got left. _

Again, it was some time before they could face each other. Once could be written off as the stress of the events. But again? Even though it hurt, oh it hurt so much to be so close and yet have such a gaping divide between them, it hurt even more to stay away. Aziraphale felt like he was living in a fog - everything lost focus without his Demon around. Crowley felt like he couldn’t breathe. They existed like this, carrying on as before on the surface, not talking about the sporadic moments when they held each other close in silence, each separation tearing into their hearts more than the last. The air was becoming crowded with unspoken sentiments, unvoiced feelings and unheard need. It was stifling. 

As the months wore on, Aziraphale felt his resolve cracking now that he no longer had to fear Heaven’s retribution. He faltered often, stealing touches where he could. Crowley found their unspoken no-contact rule being broken more and more. The Angel would greet him with a touch to the shoulder, fingers would brush as he handed him a glass, they would share the sofa, knees occasionally catching each other, rather than keep to their separate chairs. Crowley drank it in as much as he dared, but knew he could never return the gestures. Never limit himself to such small doses. Never let himself start to hope, in the knowledge that it would be taken away. 

Aziraphale had bought Crowley an e-book reader at some point, thinking that perhaps he’d understand Aziraphale’s love of words if he viewed them through a medium he was more in tune with. It worked, to an extent. They sat together sometimes, Aziraphale with his paper pages and Crowley with his screen, though mostly what he did was read books about plants, and try to work out how he could orchestrate the next precious moment of divine contact. 

Then one day Aziraphale got particularly lost in a novel, feet drawn up on the sofa in front of him, knees near his chin with the book resting on them, and reached out to the Demon perpetually on his left, scooping up his hand where it lay resting between them. Without a single word, not even a flicker of eyes from the page, he gently brought Crowley’s hand to his lips and kissed it absentmindedly, but oh, so tenderly. Crowley froze, not quite knowing if this was a new approach to whatever it was they did together in those unacknowledged moments, but Aziraphale merely held his hand to his mouth, resting his face on it with a gentle smile, while he gazed fondly at the words in front of him, lost in the story. 

Crowley’s chest felt tight, the fragments of his heart twisting beneath his ribs. The easy intimacy a cruel reminder of something he would never have. 

“What’s going on, Angel?” He asked quietly, his voice strained, not daring to move. 

“Hmm? Oh the protagonists are finally realising what they mean to each other, and declaring it wholeheartedly. It’s rather wonderful.” His eyes were shining with the sentiment he felt for two figments of imagination. _He could love someone that was just ink and paper and imagination, but he could never love a Demon_, Crowley thought bitterly. 

“I meant...” Crowley said, before squeezing his hand slightly. 

“What?” Aziraphale looked down at their entwined hands first in confusion, then in horror before rapidly discarding it. His expression burned into Crowley’s mind more than the yelp he didn’t quite manage to fully stifle. 

“I- I’m so sorry!” The Angel hurriedly stammered “I got quite caught up in the story and didn’t even realise! I do apologise, I know you don’t like that sort of thing. Won’t happen again!” And Aziraphale shrank himself away from Crowley, hiding behind the book, rapidly rebuilding all the invisible barriers that had been slowly falling. The story was bittersweet now, not that he could really carry on reading with the rising panic that his unthinking act had broken whatever fragile thing it was that they had. That Crowley would be disgusted with him, this weak, soft, pathetic excuse for an Angel. That Crowley would realise it was all a mistake. That Crowley would, once again, leave and perhaps never return. 

“‘That sort of thing?!’” Crowley replied, confusion mingling with a sudden, profound sense of loss. 

Aziraphale looked at him timidly over his book. “Well... you... you always leave. Right away, right after we...” _Make Love._ The crowded air swallowed it up, tucking it away out of reach. 

Crowley felt dizzy. The weight of the words in the air pressing down on him. 

“I have to Angel, I’m sorry. I can’t-“ he faltered, but the air had no more room for words that needed to be said. Crowley looked down at the rejected hand in his lap as his body tried to recoil from the sentence in his throat. “I can’t bear to see what it means to you. I can still... be there for you, but please, don’t ask me to stay...” It was barely more than a whisper. _I won’t survive seeing it mean nothing to you._

Without looking at his Angel, Crowley once again got up and left. Unsure if his heart could ever heal from this. Not knowing if his only companion, his only reason to be, would ever want to see him again. 

It was months before they saw each other again this time, and the comfortable touches had vanished. The fragile intimacy shattered. Once again they took up separate spaces. Aziraphale hoped that if he maintained their physical distance then it would stop Crowley from being driven away. Crowley desperately missed the moments of contact, but daren't cross the barrier that had risen between them hoping it would allow his one-time adversary the space to stay, even if it was at arm’s length.

And still the air was choking with words that needed to be heard. 

They fell into each other’s arms once more after discussing their failed executions - their 'trials' or lack thereof. They knew it would be the last time they could bear this, the last time they could carry the pain of wordlessly separating again afterwards, so it became a more tender affair. Desperate hands turned to a more loving embrace as bodies tried to communicate what vocal cords could not. 

It just made it even more painful when Crowley stood up to leave. He hid his shaking hands from his Angel, forced his breathing to remain even as he focussed all his concentration into commanding his feet to get him away from here before his heart shattered for the last time. Tried to think about what he would drink in his flat to try and forget the expression that had fluttered across Aziraphale’s face in the moment, if there was anything on Earth that was strong enough. His Angel had looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world, and Crowley knew, he knew that that was just an effect of the act they had undertaken. An Angel so pure, so kind, so wonderful, could never care that much for a creature who crawled on his belly. 

Aziraphale sat on the edge of his bed, unable to stop shaking all over. He had let his guard slip and looked into his Demon’s beautiful eyes, seen the pain and suffering as he had been unable to stop his face from showing how he really felt. The one thing Crowley had asked him not to do and he had failed him. The shards where his heart had been couldn’t break any more, and the sob that swelled up in his chest could not be held in. The air had no more space for suppressed emotions. Before Crowley had made it to the door, the sob escaped. 

Once again, Crowley froze. He had tried to block out any sounds Aziraphale might make as he got on with his life as normal, but that noise stood out in its incongruousness. Slowly he turned to look at the figure slumped at the side of the bed. He was hunched over, face in his hands. Shaking. 

Without thinking Crowley strode quickly over to him. 

“What’s wrong Angel?” He asked, voice quivering. 

“It hurts Crowley. It hurts so much...” Aziraphale managed between sobs. 

Crowley didn’t understand. 

“What hurts? Where? Fuck Aziraphale did I hurt you? If I hurt you Angel you need to fucking tell me and I will never do it again. Please tell me where I hurt you so I can make it better!” It all came out in a rush, one hand hovering above the Angel’s shoulder not quite knowing whether to land as his eyes frantically searched the Angel’s body for signs of injury. 

The atmosphere had made it clear that it was done carrying their baggage. Aziraphale was on his own. 

“Here Crowley.” Aziraphale said, holding his chest. “It hurts here. Every time you walk away. Every time you’re so disgusted with me you can’t even look at me after we... we...” He collapsed into sobs, and the air took pity one last time. 

Crowley was perplexed. “How could I ever be disgusted with you Angel?” The weight of centuries of unspoken words crushed down on him. Forcing the words stuck in his throat out. 

“I love you.” 

It came out so quiet, forcing its way out before Crowley could swallow it down as he had done so many times before. He recoiled in terror, bracing himself for the Angel to... laugh? Tell him he was pathetic? Remind him he’s a Demon, and who could love that? All of the above, and more? 

Aziraphale felt sick. This was a low blow. He knew Crowley tried to keep him happy, but lying to him, toying with his emotions, was crueller than his usual fare. He got up and started pulling his clothes back on. 

“I don’t need a Demon’s pity Crowley.” He spat out. “Maybe you should just leave.”

Aziraphale’s words cut deep, as only a holy blade can. Crowley tried to stem the surge of panic. “If that’s what you want Angel. I’ll do whatever you want. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay, if you want me to go, I’ll go. Just say the word.”

Aziraphale stood by the door. 

“Please just leave Crowley. I can’t do this any more.” Aziraphale was shaking. He stared at the floor, hands opening and closing at his side. He couldn’t bear to be so close and yet so far. 

Crowley moved like he was in a dream. He paused in front of the Angel, but Aziraphale turned his face away, eyes closed, so he drifted on, not breathing, heart barely remembering to beat. He floated through the bookshop downstairs, gaze sweeping around, touching every surface as he left. Inhaling its comforting scent. Committing this place to memory, sure in the knowledge that this was the last time he would see it. He didn’t break until he was sat in the Bentley outside. The realisation that he’d actually lost his Angel came crashing down. He’d finally fucked it up just like he knew he would. He was alone again. He didn’t remember the journey back to his flat, or opening his front door. Suddenly he was faced with his own empty bed, and it came up to meet him, or was he falling? Falling again, just like the foul, unforgivable, unlovable fiend he was. He lost consciousness as his head landed on his pillow. 

Meanwhile, in a Soho bookshop, an Angel was slumped, sobbing against his doorframe, wondering if this overwhelming tearing sensation in his chest was how it felt to Fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well you've made it this far so you must have a streak of masochism. Here's a musical accompaniment to enjoy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCYaALgW80c


	2. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags on this chapter, and be kind to yourself. Let me know if you think I've missed any.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and the Demon slept. He had no reason to wake now. Aziraphale withdrew from the world he had loved and fought for, defied Heaven for. He stopped opening the bookshop, preferring to preserve it as it was when he had everything he ever wanted. He thought about sleeping, but couldn’t face returning to that room. He wished he had some hellfire. At least the pain of burning might bring relief from the pain in his chest that no miracle could cure. 

And still, the Demon slept. 

Months turned into a year. Aziraphale was a ghost of his former self. He’d long since stopped eating - food had no pleasure without company. He tried reading, diving into story after story, trying to find solace but instead finding memories of Crowley. Of the one thing he couldn’t have. Tragedy upon tragedy stacked up next to him, each merely a pinprick in comparison to the tortuous cavern in his chest. He drank so he didn’t have to hear his own thoughts. He never left the confines of his bookshop, his sanctuary, his prison. Never venturing outside to see the world they had saved, as it carried on turning without him. The soft, kind, loving Angel had wasted away until all that was left was as unfeeling and detached as the rest of them. The cold, logical state brought him some relief, but he realised that just as he couldn't feel the pain any more, neither could he feel love. He wasn't even sure he could feel Her. Aziraphale thought perhaps he had Fallen after all. He deserved it, for loving a Demon. A Demon that would never return his affections. Could never reciprocate his love. A hedonist unable to enjoy any of the pleasures of life, he was in a Hell all of his very own. He'd tried calling Crowley, tried to apologise, left countless messages on his infernal answering machine, pleading with him to come back, promising that he would be stronger, begging for another chance, but it was clear that there would be no response. Aziraphale had been discarded like a broken toy it seemed. 

And then one dark day as he bleakly mused upon what God would think of him now, if there was any point in praying for mercy, for salvation, for some sort of end to this, his shuffling feet tripped on the circular rug in the centre of the shop that had somehow formed a wrinkle on its own. He remembered his summoning circle that lay beneath. He laughed. Who was he going to call? He was all alone. Heaven wanted nothing to do with him, She certainly wouldn’t take his call, and Crowley didn’t need a circle to get in touch. That just left Hell, and summoning a Demon would be just about the stupidest thing he could do right now. In this state they’d be sure to try and kill him, and very quickly work out he was not as impervious to hellfire as they’d been led to believe. 

He reflected on this for a moment, then moving with more purpose than he had in months, he pulled the rug away and began to change the markings to point to more infernal depths. What the Hell did he have to lose? The only thing he cared for clearly wasn’t coming back. He remembered what was needed to summon a Demon, but didn’t notice when his hand drew some quite specific markings in the circle of its own accord. 

He knew his plan was reckless, he knew it was stupid, but he also knew it could work, he just wasn’t sure how well. He downed a handful of painkillers to try and take the edge off of what was to come. A deal with a Demon, the only being who could end this pain that no amount of human-made chemicals, or divine miracles could touch. He picked up the bottle and looked at it a bit closer. These were made for humans. How many would a celestial body need? Better have a few more for good measure. After a while, the bottle was empty. His mind by now was so much of a fog from the onslaught it had endured in the past weeks he didn’t really care what was real any more. 

He sat cross-legged on the floor next to the circle, holding the empty bottle of pills in one hand, swigging a bottle of gin with the other. He gave a small, mirthless chuckle and leant towards the circle. 

“Come on then, you bastard, show y’self.”

With a fizz and a crackle the circle filled with a blistering heat and flickering red light that danced with sparks and embers. The smell of burning, of sulphur, of decay filled the air. The Angel didn’t flinch, resolute in his path. With a final scrape of nails on blackboard, a body was unceremoniously dumped into the circle. 

A body with hair like a crisp autumn, dressed in black since before it was stylish. A body wearing trousers that must take significant effort to wriggle into, unless you happen to have a spine that only loosely associates with your hips and legs, as if it's not used to having them at all. A body that had, up to this point, been fast asleep.

The fall broke his sunglasses, but finally, the Demon awoke. 

He woke up to a hard floor, a strange, hot buzzing sensation, a stench that he hoped he'd never have to endure again, and the sound of laughter so unhinged that at first he thought he had been summoned back to Hell. As he cautiously pulled himself up, his eyes focused on the piles of books in front of him and he realised it wasn't Hell at all, but perhaps this was worse... 

Aziraphale had lost nearly all ability to form rational thought, but he recognised his age-old adversary slowly unfolding to his feet and he couldn’t hold back. He leaned back on the table behind him, legs stretched out ahead, and let out a delirious sound that might have been laughter, but could easily have been a tormented wail. _Of all the Demon summoning circles in all the world, this one had to drop into mine_, he thought. 

Crowley was still groggy, but waking up fast when he realised he had been summoned to the bookshop. Aziraphale never used his summoning circle, so his lightning-fast imagination ran riot. Who would have summoned him and why? It had to be Hell, and being in a summoning circle left him extraordinarily vulnerable. His sunglasses were in pieces, and the circle suppressed his ability to miracle them back together. He had nowhere to hide. He tried to work out his options, with the spectre of a burning bookshop crowding his thoughts. He turned around slowly to look for his summoner, teeth lengthening, eyes taken over with the colour of the sulphur in which he was made, but expression a careful study in irritated nonchalance.

Instead he saw his Angel, slumped on the floor up against a table leg, clearly possessed. Crowley tried to rush forward to help him, but bounced, wincing, off the edge of the circle with a sharp, painful crackle, landing on his knees. The edge of the circle sparked and flared where he'd touched it. 

“Fuck, Angel what happened?! Did they come for you?! What have they done?! Are you hurt?! Can you stand?!” He looked around, searching dark corners for demonic presence and found... nothing. Instead he saw the mess and debris littering the normally tidy(ish) shop. 

“Shit Aziraphale, what happened here?! How did it get into such a state since I left yesterday?! Can you move? Can you let me out?” He could hear the panic in his own voice but it didn’t matter. Even if the Angel didn’t love him, he knew he would gladly douse himself in holy water if it saved him from whatever had possessed him. 

Aziraphale managed to tame his delirious laughter as it gave way to shock, then anger. He leaned forward with an expression that was cold and hard, as unbridled divine fury rolled off of him. Crowley shrank back in confusion and fear, wondering if it was possible to Fall all over again. 

“Yesterday?! YESTERDAY?!" the Angel thundered, his voice ploughing up and down the octaves. "‘Yesterday’ was a year ago you arsehole. Have you been sleeping this whole time?! All the while I’ve been in so much pain, slowly drowning, begging for a way out, and you’ve been fucking sleeping?! You use me like that, knowing I can’t say no, take advantage of me knowing my heart can’t take it, break me, and then you just slither off to have a fucking NAP?!” Aziraphale was adding new meaning to being incandescent with rage. 

The atmosphere just shrugged. No words would be held back here tonight. 

Crowley blinked, stunned. _A year? A whole fucking year?! Shit, _he thought._ I left him alone. What have I done?!_

“You know Craaawly” Aziraphale continued as he reclined back against the table, noting with satisfaction as the Demon winced at his former name, “I was so sure I loved you. But that was your plan all along wasn’t it? Tempt me, use me, get what you wanted, then just drop me when you were done! I should have known, you are a Demon after all as you kept reminding me. Was it just the thrill of the chase for you? The excitement of enacting a temptation? Then, what? Now I finally broke and gave in it's no fun any more and you're off to find your next thrill?! Got another Angel lined up in your sights? Evidently the damned leopard cannot change his shorts. Spots. Something like that." Aziraphale waved his miraculously still not empty gin bottle towards the trapped Demon, and dropped his icy gaze towards the floor.

Crowley felt as if he was on trial again, but to a far more important authority. 

"Angel that's..." He tried but his Angel wasn't listening.

"I thought you were different to the other Demons Crowley, better, but I guess that was just me being too soft again, just like Gabriel said. My own fault for giving you so many chances I suppose." Aziraphale's steely blue eyes met the Demon's acid-yellow ones again, but with a pain so great that Crowley couldn't help but cry out. 

"Azir-"

"Well I have nothing more to give you foul fiend. I despise you. As you so rightly said, you're unforgivable. Not that it matters now, but soon you won’t be able to hurt me any more. I’d hoped for a different Demon so I could at least have a memorable end, go down in a blaze of glory, that sort of thing, but I can’t even get that right, can I? Can’t imagine you’re going to give me any hellfire, even though I did give you the holy water. And to think I agonised over it, in case you used it on yourself and I lost my best friend! Now I wish you had - some best friend you turned out to be!" Aziraphale was rambling as the barrage of substances took hold.

Crowley was crying. A silent tsunami of despair as he heard the depths to which his Angel had fallen, where he'd let him fall. And he was stuck in a summoning circle, powerless to do anything about it other than watch. Even Falling had been kinder than this, at least he didn't see it coming. 

"Never were one for the dirty work though were you? Had to be me killing the boy. Imagine that, a Demon who can't stomach the idea of killing. What is the point of you? But perhaps it’s better that it’s you. Just you and me, like you promised. For whatever that’s worth. ’Our side’. Ha! You can sit back and watch your greatest achievement!” Aziraphale waved the empty bottle of painkillers as his speech began to rapidly deteriorate. He started wincing as his body’s organs began to protest at the onslaught that he wasn’t bothering to mitigate against. “One of God’s own, committing the most mortal of sins. Sure-fire way, ha! Sure-fire way to Fall. What is the going rate for an Angel’s soul right now? Even one as tarnished as mine must be sure to get you back on their good books. Bad books. Whatever. That was your plan all along, wasn't it? If any part of me survives this Crowley, I guess I’ll see you in Hell. Not sure you'll want to see me as a Demon though. I always was stronger than you. Even though you do have the most beautiful eyes...” 

Aziraphale grimaced as he pulled one foot in to try and shift himself more upright, but it was too late. The knee merely fell to the side. He groaned, eyes slammed shut, as his body started to shut down, panting and sweating as muscles locking up tight in agony before he finally dropped his head forward and went very still. 

Crowley was a mess. He looked from Aziraphale's face to the empty pill bottle and back again. This was all his nightmares wrapped up in one neat package, with a few extra bits thrown in for the Hell of it. It was one thing to constantly hear your own internal voice telling you you were worthless, it was quite another actually hearing his Angel confirm it. He held on to one source of light in all the darkness, one faintly flickering star - his Angel had loved him. He could scarcely believe it. It couldn’t be possible, but Aziraphale didn’t lie. All his suppressed hopes and greatest fears were simultaneously coming true in a hideous twist of fate. 

_NO NO NO NO NO!_ He thought. _Great pustulant fucking shitty bollocks Angel!_

“Aziraphale no!” He cried, slamming his hands on the edge of the circle. It burned but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that the only thing that mattered to him hated him now, he didn't care that Aziraphale had just threatened him and was more than capable of carrying it out, he didn't even care about all the misunderstandings right now. He didn’t care about any of it, he just knew he had to find a way to stop this. No Angel or Demon had deliberately died by their own hand before. It was the ultimate insult to Her, and Crowley couldn’t know whether Aziraphale’s actions would just discorporate him and send him Falling into the sulphur, or if She would just destroy him completely. He hammered at the edge of the circle. 

“Angel! Wake up! Stay with me Angel! Come on! You know how to purge all that out so please, if you won’t do it for me, do it for the world, wake up Angel! It's not too late! Please! Break the circle and let me out, I’ll help! I’ll fix it all and then I’ll go away and never return if that’s what you want! Just, please! Aziraphale! You CANNOT FALL!”

He pounded the edge of the circle once more in desperation, then when there was no reaction forthcoming he collapsed into great, gasping sobs. Aziraphale was dying in front of him and he was trapped here having to watch it. His Angel was discorporating himself, and then who knows which way he would go? Crowley didn’t think he would survive seeing his Angel fall. He couldn’t survive seeing him just fade into oblivion. He looked up towards Her. 

“Is this your plan then? Falling from you wasn’t enough of a punishment so now you take him from me as well?! You BASTARD!” He roared, raising up onto his knees in a grotesque mockery of prayer. “You made him so pure, then you tested him to destruction and now he’s going to Fall because you’re too much of a coward to admit you fucked him up! You fucked us all up! He was everything an Angel should be, he was so pure in his love for everything you made! He tried so hard to do what was right, and do what you asked, and they weren’t always the same bloody thing!He did so much good and look what you’ve done to him! Save him, take me instead, stop him Falling, do something! For Go-YOUR sake, do something! Why won’t you DO SOMETHING YOU GIANT FRAUD!” Crowley screamed, collapsing once more against the edge of the circle, looking towards his dying Angel in dismay. 

“Why won’t you do something?” He sobbed quietly, squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to block out the horror unfolding on the floor of what was supposed to be their haven.

The foot that Aziraphale had drawn towards himself lost its traction with the floor as a dying muscle spasmed and it slid back out. As the leg reached full extension the foot scuffed the edge of the circle, collapsing its power with a squeaky pop. 

Crowley fell forwards with a start as the support disappeared, then scrabbled towards his falling Angel as fast as he could, dragging the body into his lap. It was limp in a way that his Angel could never permit himself to be. The arms and head fell back loosely, the shoulders were slack. Aziraphale's face was stuck in a grimace that didn't belong there, and he was so very, very cold. Crowley couldn’t breathe. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot Aziraphale. Why didn’t you tell me you loved me? How could you not see how much I loved you? I’m a fucking idiot for not telling you. We’re both fucking idiots, now please wake up so I can take you for crêpes and tell you properly. I’ll even let you tell me it’s ineffable, that’s how desperate I am. I love you Angel, always have. I meant it before and I mean it now. Come back to me? I’m so sorry Angel, stay with me, you can do that can’t you?”

“Please...”

“Angel...”

“Please, just wake up...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proper little masochist aren't you? Well if you want some salt for those wounds here you go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arj4BDdz6qc
> 
> Now go hug someone.


	3. Stay

Aziraphale was vaguely aware that he was, floating? Drifting perhaps? Either way he wasn't on Earth any more. He'd actually managed to discorporate himself, except now he couldn't quite work out why he had done it, although strangely he felt more curious than worried by it. His mind didn't seem to be all there and his thoughts were foggy and slow. He remembered feeling an immense loss, and a feeling of desperation, but for what? He must have had a good reason to do what he did, otherwise why would he be here? Just where was here anyway? It didn't have the usual feeling of dread he'd come to associate with Heaven, but neither was it infernally hot so it couldn't be Hell. It didn't feel like anything really. He couldn't tell if his eyes were closed, or if there was just nothing to see. He realised he couldn’t hear anything either. Not even the usual sounds of his own Earthly corporation that he'd become so accustomed to that he didn’t notice them until they were gone. There wasn’t even any smell. Nothing. It was a total sensory blackout. 

Ah.

Limbo.

He took a moment to check himself over. He could still feel Her so somehow he hadn't fallen... yet. He couldn't feel much, suspended like this, so he concentrated on feeling Her - Her presence, Her Grace, Her... guilt? Her regret? He'd expected rage, or, at best or maybe worst, disappointment, but regret? Was this regret for past actions, or regret for something She was about to do? How could She regret something that was all part of the ineffable plan? He was vaguely aware that an argument was taking place. Or at least someone was doing a lot of shouting, and clearly felt very passionately about it. About him. Then it stopped suddenly, and it felt like a decision had been reached. His future set. Fate sealed. 

He felt his celestial corporation suddenly falling, and began to panic in anticipation of the burn. He was so focused on his own panic, that he didn't feel Her hope.

In their beloved bookshop, Crowley could feel that the corporation in his arms was empty. He knew that even now the words were finally spoken, the ears they were meant for were not able to hear them. He tried not to think what would happen if Aziraphale turned up in the afterlife. He wasn’t sure which direction would be worse, but he knew he would never see him again, and it was all his fault. He was cursed to ruin everything he touched, and he’d let himself ruin possibly the only good person in this whole damned universe because he was weak and selfish. 

Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s body gently for what felt like moments, but could well have been days. He carefully healed it of the damage the cocktail of chemicals had ravaged on it, stroked the bouncy, platinum curls, caressed the familiar cherubic face, then bent down and kissed him softly. Crowley’s face was so contorted with grief that he could barely bring his lips together to form the kiss, slick with tears. His wings burst out as he wailed aloud just as Mary had in front of the cross. He screamed in rage until his throat felt like the fire in which he was transformed, and when he had no more left to feel, his whole being utterly numb, he held what was left of his Angel close and pressed his face into its neck. Instead of the usual leathery, papery, earthy scent that he had come to think of as home, the body smelled of death. 

“I forgive you.” He whispered. “I’ll look for you in the stars my love.” 

Crowley laid the body down reverently, and once again silently stood up to leave. He needed to get away from this place. He walked unsteadily over to Aziraphale’s desk and picked up the Angel’s bible. All his usual swagger gone. It was Aziraphale’s own copy that he’d grabbed all those centuries ago before the printer had noticed the verses that the Angel had added to genesis and pulped the whole print run. The most nice and accurate bible in the world. Crowley clung to it and turned towards the door, eyes sweeping across the library masquerading as a bookshop that had been their world, and would now be a tomb. He could feel the air thick with everything he had never been able to say to his Angel, everything that he would never be able to say now. It felt oppressive, and stifling, and crowded his senses. He rested his hand on the inside of the door as he paused to promise himself that he would find a fitting way to remember his Angel, keep the bookshop preserved until the World itself finally gave up, or he gave up on it. The room shifted around him as he put his hand on the door handle to open the door. He desperately needed fresh air. 

“I do hope you’re not planning on removing that from the premises.” Came a familiar, but hoarse voice, startling the wretched Demon. His eyes flew open in shock and disbelief, mixed with an unhealthy dose of fear. He must have imagined that, his mind trying to cope with the loss. 

“I’ll have you know it’s the only one of its kind in the whole of creation, and a first edition. It’s completely unique. I'd be very grateful if you could put it back where you found it please.”

Not imagined. Heard. Crowley dropped the bible and threw himself back across the shop to where he had left Aziraphale's lifeless body, but instead found it somehow once again full of life. But what sort of life? He pulled up short to one side, wings spread slightly in anxiety, kneeling at the altar of his world that he hoped was still consecrated. He didn’t know who or what had returned yet. Aziraphale had sat up and was looking at his feet and the circle. Now he was back in his body, his memories were returning, along with a few new understandings. 

“Az- Aziraphale?” Crowley stammered, timidly reaching one hand out towards him. “Are you.. are you..?” 

Aziraphale turned slowly to his Demon, looking at his hands in confusion. Crowley needed to see his eyes. 

“Ang- Aziraphale please look at me...” He pleaded, throwing off his sunglasses. All that hope that the Demon had been pushing away, storing up for centuries, was poured out now in one dizzying burst. 

A familiar, achingly beautiful, steel-blue-grey-whatever-glorious-fucking-colour-eternity-is turned to look at him, and right through him down to his darkest depths as it had always done. The relief was overwhelming, knocking Crowley back to sit on the floor, as all the unnecessary air left his lungs in one sharp grunt. It was a while before either of them spoke. 

“You were gone...” Was all Crowley could say. His mouth dry. 

“So I gather.” the Angel said, impossibly calm.

“And now you’re back...” 

“So it would seem.”

“And you’re still you?”

Aziraphale looked down at his body. “So it would appear.”

“_How_?” Crowley demanded. 

Aziraphale was wringing his hands together. “Ah. Bit complicated. Ended up in Limbo of all places. Nobody really knew what to do with me, but it seems somebody prayed for me, or something to that effect. Put forward a very strong case. Apparently they were... most insistent. Couldn’t be ignored. That sort of thing. All I know is it was dark, and there was a sense of incalculable, well, regret. I felt myself falling, then next thing I know I’m back here. I was expecting to end up a bit further down if I’m honest, but they do say She moves in mysterious ways. Probably all rather, dare I say, ineffable?” Aziraphale glanced back up at Crowley as he said this, the proverbial olive branch extending out along with the shy beginnings of a hopeful smile. 

“We’re both giant fucking idiots.” Crowley blurted out, his brain still desperately trying to catch up to an Angel, after all this time, suddenly going too fast for him. 

“Oh? How so?” Aziraphale frowned. 

“I love you Angel. Desperately, foolishly, completely. Always have.”

“Crowley...”

“No, hear me out. I should have told you centuries ago, but I couldn’t see how an Angel so kind, so clever, so unbearably wonderful could ever love a Demon, and a crap Demon at that. I’m sorry. And if you don’t love me now after everything I’ve put you through, I’ll understand. I’ll leave you alone, do whatever you want. Promise.” Crowley let the words flow, desperate to heal this rift, this chasm that had opened up, but also not knowing if the Angel even wanted it to close. 

“You’re not just saying that because it’s what you think I want to hear?” 

“No Angel, I’m saying it because I need you to hear it. Can't you feel it? I can’t hide away from it any more. That’s why I never stayed, I couldn’t bear to see you just discard me afterwards, not when it meant so much to me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted around but never at Crowley for a long time in silence. His face constantly shifting with all the emotions churning behind it as he revisited his most painful memories in the light of this new truth. He was seeing so many events from a whole new perspective. Then just as the Demon was finished mentally preparing himself for rejection, he opened his mouth in a silent 'oh', threw one hand to his chest, over his heart, and looked right into his adversary’s wide, golden, terrified eyes. 

“Crowley I can feel it. I've always felt it but I didn't see it for what it was because... Oh my dearest Crowley. Because it's always been there hasn't it? All this time. I thought that was just how you were. I had no idea that that was because of me. For me. I'm so sorry. As for my recent behaviour, you have to understand that I was not really myself when I said those things. I’m terribly sorry for what I said, truly. I was speaking from a place of great pain that appears to have been as a result of some monumental misunderstandings. Dying does tend to put somewhat of a different perspective on things, and I can see your actions for what they were now, not what I thought I understood them to be. Do you think you could ever forgive me my love?” Aziraphale’s face showed nothing of the despair and rage from before. Instead it was full of fragile hope tinged with pure love. 

"Forgive you?! I left you alone when I should have been here. It's me that should apologise Angel." Crowley said. He knew he would say anything, do anything, just to keep his Angel gazing at him like that.

"No, Crowley. I was angry, I was hurting and I said things that I didn't mean, but that I knew would hurt you. I wanted to hurt you, wanted to make you feel some of the pain that I felt. It's true I was terrified that you'd use the holy water on yourself and leave me, but I am eternally overjoyed that you didn't. Truly. You've always been my best friend Crowley. My only friend, really. And I can't pretend that doesn't scare me, that I haven't wondered if we've just grown accustomed to each other being the only friendly face for millenia." Aziraphale took a deep breath that he didn't physically need. "But I realised that I've known many Angels for just as long, if not longer, and when I need someone in a dark moment Crowley I don't think of Gabriel. In my happiest moments I don't wish I could share them with Michael. I don't sit in this bookshop hoping Uriel would saunter in and whisk me off on some ridiculous escapade. I certainly don't want to share my wine and my sofa with Sandalphon. It's you, my dear, it's always been you. Every time. So yes, far from despising you," he winced at the memory of his hateful words and looked to his hands clasped tightly in his lap, "I have loved you for longer than I let myself realise. Desperately, foolishly, and, indeed, completely I believe." At this Aziraphale looked up again with an expression that spoke of aching need. It was an expression that Crowley had seen so many times, but until now not fully understood. It was the one that he was utterly powerless to resist. So this time he didn't even try.

Crowley lit up like a firework. The tension holding him back snapped, and he rocketed forwards in an explosion of limbs that crashed into Aziraphale, bowling him over until he was flat on the floor with a Demon wrapped very firmly around him. 

“Stay with me Angel, please?” He asked, his voice only slightly cracking.

“I have no intention of leaving you ever again you daft old serpent, but I seem to recall it was usually you who did the leaving.” Replied Aziraphale, somewhat breathless due to Crowley’s serpentine proficiency at squeezing. His arms were free so he put them to good use enveloping his most wily of adversaries, holding him as close as he could. 

“Not any more.” Came the answer as Crowley coiled around the Angel even more. “Unless you want me to of course?” He spluttered anxiously, loosening his grip, not quite able to look up just in case. “Do you want me to stay?”

Aziraphale prized his beloved adversary off enough to cup his face and bring it gently to his so they could look right into each other’s eyes. 

“I **never** wanted you to go, you giant fucking idiot.”

That night, and every time thereafter, Crowley stayed. Basking in the warmth of his Angel, relishing the comfortable intimacy, and taking every opportunity to gaze into his eyes and tell him all those words that had been left unspoken for so long. Being a Demon, he was particularly fond of doing it at unexpected moments just to see the way his Angel completely lost track of whatever he was doing at the time. 

Aziraphale found all sorts of new ways to explore and show his love for his Demon, barely letting him out of his sight. He too, being somewhat of a bastard, liked to surprise Crowley, relishing the way the Demon nearly fell over each and every time.  


Eventually they talked more about what had happened that night, and both agreed it had been some sort of miracle that the rug had been rucked up at that moment, as God only knows what would have happened if he hadn't accidentally summoned the one being who could regularly and reliably save him and his immortal soul. But as Aziraphale wouldn't have done it, and Crowley couldn't do that sort of thing in his sleep, they chalked it up to dumb human-style luck. There was only one other option, and it was ridiculous to think that She would be paying them any attention now, right?

The air, meanwhile, being clearer than it had been for centuries, took a holiday. It was no longer needed here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I couldn't very well leave him dead could I? I'm not a monster. 
> 
> Now here's your final musical suggestion. Don't worry, this is a happy one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8QLQLnFaoE


End file.
